


Imagine Thranduil

by Petralice



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Anxiety, Cute, Elves, F/M, Father-Daughter Relationship, Father-Son Relationship, Fluffy Ending, Gen, M/M, Multi, Nervousness, One Shot, Other, Platonic Female/Male Relationships, Platonic Male/Male Relationships, Platonic Relationships, Short, Short One Shot, Sweet, gender neutral reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-07
Updated: 2018-07-07
Packaged: 2019-06-06 15:34:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15197858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Petralice/pseuds/Petralice
Summary: “Ada,” you would coo to him, the only Sindarin word you can remember now, and he’d smile softly and say, “I am not your ada, little one,” without fail.





	Imagine Thranduil

**Author's Note:**

> This is years old (like...three years old, probably), but it's a response to an "imagine" on Tumblr; the url was imaginexhobbit. This is very short and completely G-rated.

You remember a great earthen presence and the silky swish of robes as they enveloped you. He was regal and warm, and he made you feel safe in his arms when no one was looking. 

Horned demons never scared you, because he too was crowned with horns.

“ _Ada,_ ” you would coo to him, the only Sindarin word you can remember now, and he’d smile softly and say, “I am not your _ada,_ little one,” without fail.

It’s been years now since they took you away from him, “for your own good,” they said, and never explained further. You’d grown up among other humans since then and had begun to think that your life with the Elvenking had been a dream until a summons came to your door one day, a golden-haired elf atop a gorgeous gray stallion, with a piebald mare in tow.

“The King wishes me to bring you to him as soon as possible,” said the elf, not impolitely, and no one needed to ask which King he meant.

Several days’ ride later, through the Elven-path and at the doors of the Forest Gate, the knots in your stomach are no more subdued than they were at the start. What could he possibly want with you? What use would you, a human, be to him, an immortal elf? Why would he want to see you after all these years, now that you would no longer even be recognizable to him? The doors open. The hall gapes at you, wide and tall as the canopy of Mirkwood and just as grandiose, but your eyes are locked past its twists and turns. The throne of Thranduil is as distant as your memories, but they return with each step. The knots begin to tremble deep within.

“You’re shaking,” says a voice as silken as your memories.

Are you really already at his feet?

You look up slowly, into eyes that make you think of the sky through icicles hanging from the roof. You shudder, but you can’t help the grin spreading across your face.

“You haven’t aged at all,” you mumble through your teeth, and knew his elven ears would hear.

Thranduil rises like a cresting wave. His silver robes trail behind him as he descends towards you, and even stepped down from his throne, he is no less immense. His sheer presence is like a redwood tree, this forest king of Mirkwood. You wonder if you ever really did used to play on his lap.

He pauses before you and studies your face as you bite your lip, thinking perhaps you might have spoken out of turn? But he smiles at you, just as softly as he used to.

“You have aged,” he said, “like the moon.”

You try to meet his eyes, but can hardly look at him for your nervousness. Your slight frown seems only to amuse him.

“When I found you on the forest floor, you were so fragile, so small, like the sliver of a newborn moon in the sky. But look at you now--full and radiant.”

For the first time, you hold his gaze, but it becomes blurry as tears start to well.

He said, “You used to call me–”

“ _Ada._ ”

Those arms are just as warm and safe as you remember.


End file.
